PLEASE DON'T TELL ME — WAIT.
ᯓwho☆: 𝒹ino x reader (fluff x fic)
ᯓwhat☆: chan and you, longtime frenemies with undeniable chemistry, finally go on a date after he nervously waits outside your apartment holding a bouquet of roses, panicking that you’ll say “wait.”
ᯓword count☆: 1k+ (1513)
ᯓnotes☆: this is my first fic on here and of course its dino! i hope you enjoy it!
you’re late. ten minutes, to be exact, but it feels like a lifetime. your heart’s been racing since the clock hit seven and the realization sank in. he’s outside. chan is actually outside your apartment building waiting for you. chan, of all people. the boy who’s spent half his life teasing you, competing with you, finding ways to drive you insane. your frenemy. your challenge. your constant. and now, your date.
you tell yourself this is ridiculous. that this is just him being cocky again, that saying yes to this date was just a way to prove you weren’t intimidated by him. except now you’re pacing your room with butterflies in your stomach and lip gloss smudged on your hand because you wiped it off and reapplied it three times. you can’t stop thinking about how good he looked when he asked you out — eyes bright, smile a little nervous, voice softer than usual like he was afraid you’d laugh at him. you did laugh, of course, because it’s chan, but then you said yes. and now you’re panicking.
“okay he’s hot but he’s my frenemy for a reason,” you mutter to yourself, trying to shake the feeling that’s been growing since that day. the same feeling that makes your chest tighten every time you catch him staring at you for too long.
meanwhile, outside, chan’s been standing near the entrance of your apartment lobby for the past fifteen minutes, holding a bouquet of red roses in one hand and pretending he’s not freaking out. he’s replaying everything in his head — the way you smiled when you said yes, the way your voice sounded lighter than usual, almost curious. he’s been waiting for this for months. maybe longer. and now he’s here, hands shaking slightly, heart pounding too fast, wondering if he looks as nervous as he feels.
he glances at his reflection in the glass door, straightens his shirt, brushes his hair back, and mutters, “it’s fine. you’re fine. she’s just late. not ditching you. probably.”
his phone buzzes in his hand, and he realizes it’s already been ten minutes. that’s when he gives in, pressing your contact and bringing the phone to his ear.
the line clicks, and before you can even say hello, his voice fills the silence — low, a little rough from the chill air. “please don’t tell me, ‘wait.’”
you freeze in front of the mirror, eyes wide, lips parting in surprise. the sound of his voice sends a shiver straight down your spine. you can hear the smile in it, that familiar mix of teasing and sincerity that only he can pull off.
“chan,” you start, but your voice catches.
“please,” he says, softer now, “don’t make me wait any longer.”
outside, chan’s staring at his phone, half ready to groan in defeat when he looks up — and there you are, leaning against the glass doors with a smirk. you look a little breathless, eyes catching his under the lobby light.
for a moment, everything stops. the noise of the city fades, and it’s just the two of you standing there. you, in your simple outfit that somehow looks perfect, and him, with roses still clutched in his hand, mouth curling into a grin that makes your stomach twist.
he exhales a quiet laugh. “you hung up on me.”
“you talk too much,” you say, walking toward him, but your voice isn’t as sharp as you’d like it to be.
“that’s ten minutes of me looking like an idiot holding flowers,” he says, though his tone is playful.
you tilt your head. “so why didn’t you just leave?” his eyes meet yours. “leave? leave my future girlfriend? hell no.” the air between you feels heavy in the best way—like a storm about to break. you can’t tell if it’s the way he’s looking at you, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes, or the way his voice dips lower every time he speaks. whatever it is, it’s making your pulse skip.
you gesture toward the flowers, trying to deflect. “roses? how original.”
“you don’t like them?” he asks, stepping closer.
he pouts. “i should've asked you beforehand… or asked the florist what flowers to get a girl on the first date… but hey i won't mess up on the second time!”
your eyes widen. second time? you haven't even started your first date and he's already thinking of a second one? you're blushing and you chuckle while shaking your head, "no no! i love roses."
you’re close enough now that you can see the tiny freckle just beneath his jaw, the one you’ve never noticed before. his cologne lingers in the air, warm and subtle, and it makes your head spin. he looks different tonight — still the same chan, still your rival in every way, but there’s something softer in the way he looks at you.
“ready?” he asks quietly. you nod, and the corner of his mouth lifts again. “good. because i don’t think i could’ve waited another minute.” the walk to his car is quiet, but not awkward. he opens the door for you, and when you sit down, you can feel his gaze linger for a second longer than necessary. when he finally starts driving, the tension is almost unbearable.
“so,” you say, staring out the window, “this is a date, huh?”
“that’s what you agreed to.”
“you sure it’s not another one of your competitions?”
he glances at you, eyes glinting. “if it was, i’d already be winning.” you bite back a smile. “you wish.”
“no,” he says softly, “i don’t need to wish for something that’s already happening.”
you turn to him, but he’s focused on the road again, pretending he didn’t just make your entire body freeze up. by the time you reach the restaurant, you’ve convinced yourself you can handle this. it’s just chan. you’ve been bickering for years. this is fine. except it’s not fine, because every time he looks at you, it feels like the room gets smaller, warmer.
he holds the door open again. “after you.” you roll your eyes. “you’re being suspiciously nice.”
“of course? remember this is a date?”
but when your fingers brush as you take the menu from him, you don’t pull away. neither does he.
dinner is full of easy conversation and stupid jokes, the kind of laughter that makes your cheeks hurt. but beneath it all, there’s this constant, unspoken tensio —the way his knee brushes yours under the table, the way his voice softens when he says your name, the way his eyes linger a second too long every time you look up.
when it’s over, he doesn’t ask if you want to go home. he just looks at you, waiting for you to say it first.
“you’re not going to drop me off?” you ask.
“you don’t want to leave yet,” he says, confident but gentle. you open your mouth to argue, but he’s right. you don’t.
so instead, you end up walking together again, the street quiet except for the sound of your footsteps. he’s beside you, close enough that your arms brush every few steps. “you really waited outside my place for ten minutes?” you say, trying to sound casual.
“i would’ve waited longer.” you laugh. “you’re ridiculous.”
“you like that about me.”
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “maybe.” he turns to look at you, and in the glow of the streetlight, his eyes are soft. “you know, when i asked you out, i thought you’d say no.”
“and miss the chance to make you sweat? never.” he chuckles quietly, then stops walking. you turn to face him.
“you did make me sweat,” he admits. "thought you were gonna blow me off."
the words sink into the air between you, heavy and quiet.
“chan,” you start, but he shakes his head, smiling like he knows something you don’t. “i'd wait.” he says, voice barely above a whisper. you hesitate, then take one small step closer.
his smile fades into something softer. his hand finds yours — slow, careful, as if waiting for you to pull away. but you don’t.
and just like that, the space between you disappears.
you don’t know who moves first, only that you’re both standing too close now, hearts pounding in sync, the world blurring into quiet. you can feel the warmth of his breath, the faint smell of roses still clinging to his sleeve, the tiny tremor in his fingers as he holds on tighter.
“you drive me crazy,” you whisper.
he grins, leaning in just a little. “good. now we’re even.”
you laugh, but it comes out softer than you mean it to. and when his forehead brushes yours, everything stops again — the noise, the nerves, the world.
for once, there’s no rivalry, no banter, just you and him, caught somewhere between falling and pretending not to.
and maybe that’s what you’ve both been waiting for.
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